His fingers trembled as he held it, but with an effort he controlled himself.

It was too weird, too uncanny to be true.

Here he was, without stirring forth from the security of his hiding place; there were his pursuers in their hotel.

With the precautions taken by Constance, neither party knew where the other was.
Yet they were in instant touch, not by the ear alone, but by handwriting itself.
He placed the stylus on the paper.

She had already written in the number of the check, the date, the bank, the amount, and the payee, Marshall Taylor.